Ah, Umar Khalid. My daughter in Pune sent me his name in a news link, and I had to sit down. She says, "Amma, look, another one they keep inside." I look at my kitchen garden, the chillies I watered today, the ginger I am hoping will grow. My neighbour's son in Delhi had the same trouble, just for trying to talk, and his old mother here cannot sleep. We have this word, _phijigee_ — it sits heavy in the chest, like knowing the electricity will cut before it does. It is the same feeling: when the most fragile people are the ones who get hurt, my heart says no, tam, this is not right.
#indigenous-languages
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